My dear Grandma had a stroke this morning. Found her unconscious in bed. Called the ambos, who took her to the hospital. She seems to be ok, is awake and talking, but everyone is very stressed. She’s the healthy one!

I don’t know how much of this is my aching heart and heavy soul, and how much is real. Hell, I don’t know what’s real anymore.

But I am desperate for a change.

I went from school, to uni, to full time work.

Without a break.

I worked part time, often in two jobs, that whole time. I’m still working two jobs now.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy my job, because while often I hate the daily grind, I enjoy teaching and I believe in it.

But lately (and were talking many months here) the fire has gone.

I work my arse off, with little or no support, for little thanks.

I feel like there should be more. I was elated at the prospect of only being there for a few more months. Stupid me for getting my hopes up. It was partly complete lack of time and energy to focus on anything else, and partly hope that it wouldn’t matter, but I didn’t apply for anything else in the peak period.

So now here I am.

What I would dearly love, is to take a year, study photography, do a cycle or two in peace, and relax (not only because of it’s pregnancy inducing guarantee).

I’ve just had enough of going through the motions. Something has to change. I can feel myself slipping into a rut that threatens to carry me to 35 before I’ve even realized I’m moving.

I could take a year’s leave from my (ongoing) contract, but financially I don’t know what that would mean. Mr G’s contract at his suit job has been extended, and he is ongoing at his woop woop job. We don’t have rent at the moment, and obviously we don’t have any kids. But we do have the financial burden of trying to get pregnant.

My HCG is back to 10. By tomorrow, I will be officially un-pregnant. Admittedly, the part of me that was still hopeful was disappointed that a miraculous eight hundred and something hadn’t appeared, but I was unsurprised.

8 days from pink line on a pee stick to being just an infertile woman having her period. I should be 5 weeks pregnant.

Instead, I was back at the RE, seeing him turn into the man with a plan.

Given my reponse, or lack thereof, to the IVF meds, my PCOS diagnosis is official. And with it comes a plan.

Drugs.

I get to take a nice little cocktail of pills – metformin, BCP’s and my prenatal vitamins. I find that combination amusing. Over the next 3 months, before we cycle again, this should help to bump off some weight and regulate my cycles.

Enjoyably, it also means no period for 3 months. Bonus.

That will lead into a down reg cycle, with 225 units of FSH rather than 150. I’m not convinced its high enough, but I have to trust that the combo of drugs will make a difference.

I asked about clotting issues and immunity testing. His opinion of immunity testing is that its “Quackery”. He is reluctant to test for clotting issues unless I have another miscarriage.

I’m not sure how I feel about the miscarriage.

We went down the Peninsula on the weekend.

I stood on the cliff tops, being buffeted by the wind. I screamed at the world, and said goodbye to our baby.

“I’m very sorry, with your levels the way they are, the continued bleeding and cramping, you have probably already miscarried. If not, you will within a week”

I haven’t yet.

This part really scares me.

I have no idea what to expect.

We wait again.

***

She was full of meaningless platitudes…

“At least you know you can get pregnant”

“It’s just one of those things”

“If it was a normal pregnancy, you might not even know about it”

“You’re young, the clock’s not ticking, you’ve got plenty of time”

“It’s worse because of the hormonal rollercoaster you’ve been on”

It’s all bullshit.

***

I’m not even going to start on being forced to sit in a waiting room with the woman directly opposite and her 6 month old baby, already showing a perfect little baby bump. Or the woman to my right, baby in pram, toddler at hand, and a belly about to pop.

Then being shunted off to a dingy corridor, lest my uncontrollable tears upset all the pregnant women.

Understanding Tashish

I'm a 28 year old teacher from Melbourne.
Mr G. and I have been married since April '09, and have always known that having a family was going to be a little more difficult than for the 'average' person, due to his Klinefelter's Syndrome.
We have been on a financially enforced 'break' from IVF since our miscarriage in late 2009. We hoped to cycle again in 2011, but pushed it out to early 2012.
It looks like this might be the one...
This is our story.

A Brief History of our TTC journey

September '06~ Meet Mr G, who tells me he has Klinefelter's (KFS) and will never be a father. Ever the eternal optimist, "never say never" say I.
Early '07~ Realise that this thing is for real, and start to look into MFI related to KFS. I am reassured by vague, sci-fi like stories of ICSI, and the Dr Google consensus that 'it's not impossible'. We try.
Nov '07~ Visit to the Endo for routine KFS checkup, obtain a referral to FS.
Dec '07~ Mr G proposes, and life goes all-wedding, all-time. We keep trying.
Late '08~ When it becomes obvious that it's not 'just going to happen', we make our first FS appointment, where it becomes clear that we will need help. Azoospermia, and a side order of suspected PCOS.
April' 09~ Our wedding
July/Aug '09 ~ IUI + injectables + donor sperm. AF arrives before beta.
September '09~ Book in for IVF
Oct '09 ~ Waiting, waiting, waiting... AF is almost a fortnight late
Nov/Dec '09 ~ IVF + ICSI + Donor Sperm. Stim for ages, poor response, threatened with cancellation. 2 eggs retrieved, 1 fertilised. 2 day, 4 cell, Grade B transfer. Faint Positive, Low first beta. Wait for appropriate HCG doubling. Levels are great, then that night the unthinkable happens.
Friday, 11th of December~ Our precious miracle is leaving.